


The Blue Note

by Hearrtonmysleeve



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hearrtonmysleeve/pseuds/Hearrtonmysleeve
Summary: Andy Sachs stumbles into a bar on a cold winter’s night, meeting someone that interests her greatly. (A Carol-Inspired story of romance set in the 1950’s.) It’s short and sweet. Written for the Mirandy Year of Fun and Frolics, Bingo Card #1 "Fur Coat."





	The Blue Note

She should have said yes when Nate offered to share a cab. Andy was more than a little tired of turning him down for dates, and was running out of excuses, but at least he tried to be a gentleman. And a warm ride in any car would be better than trudging through the slush and ice. She’s beginning to not feel her toes. 

Andy has only walked three blocks when she slips. She catches herself on her hands and knees, and nothing in her satchel is damaged, but her stockings are torn and her pride is wounded. When she sees the dim light of _The Blue Note_ bar she passes daily on her way to work, she decides to step inside for just a moment. On her morning commute, it’s normally hushed and closed but it’s lively tonight. The wind is unforgiving and a glass of something strong will do her good. Or at the very least, warm her up a little. 

The bar is crowded for such and ordinary chilly night and she has trouble getting the barkeep’s attention. After a few moments she waves down the woman in a crisp white shirt and covets the pint of beer between both hands. Turning her head subtly she searches nearly in vain for a place to sit. It’s crowded tonight.

Briefly, the hair on the back of her neck stands at attention, and the warnings from her cotillion and Sunday school come to the front of her mind. She remembers something about how women shouldn’t walk alone at night, or visit dark crowded bars, or drink in public. The world might get the wrong idea about a woman like that.

She made it all the way to New York City though, and is doing a fine job of making her own way, despite what anyone said, so she deserves a little credit. Just the memory of the bitter cold outside makes her decide to stay awhile. One drink couldn’t hurt.

She spots only a single empty chair. And the woman in the seat next to it seems to tell the world with her body language alone to stay away. Ordinarily Andy would care more about keeping polite distances from strangers, but the chill in her bones wins out over propriety. 

“Excuse me, could I sit?” She asks the seated woman, trying her best not to sound too cautious. 

The woman looks up, and Andy takes in the perfect bright red polish on her nails and freshly cut silver hair. What is a woman like this doing in an alley bar like The Blue Note? Usually someone like her would dine at the _Oak Room_ or the _Waldorf._ She looks to be in her early forties, if that, but her stylish hair has gone completely white. It’s stunning. 

The woman nods and gestures vaguely to the empty chair opposite herself. Andy sits, removing her knit hat and dropping her satchel at her feet. It feels good to sit down. 

After a few minutes of sipping at her beer, she ventures to introduce herself. “I’m Andy.” The woman raises an eyebrow. “It’s short for Andrea,” she’s quick to explain. 

The eyebrow remains aloft. “Miranda.” She says softly. The name is beautiful. It suits her. 

They speak no more, and Andy finishes the last of her dark ale with a sigh. She really needed it. “God, that was good.” 

“Had a busy day, have you?” Miranda says. She has an odd way of speaking, refined and low, letting her words drift out at their own pace. 

“You could say that,” Andy replies, "I’ve been on my feet at work a lot, chasing stories. I work for The Times.” 

“A journalist?” Miranda looks at her with interest, “Impressive.” 

“Not quite yet,” Andy says truthfully. “But I’d like to be. I’m just a clerk. But there’s a position opening up soon and I’ve got my eye on it.” 

Miranda takes a moment to size up the girl in front of her. She’s scrappy, indeed, but has the sort of charming beauty of someone who has no knowledge of their own appeal. Her skin is flawless and pale and her huge doe eyes are incredibly attractive She doesn’t seem easily scared away. Miranda decides to see how true that may be. She won’t stay too long or press to hard, she’s got another appointment later tonight, and while she would love to make Stephen wait, she would hate to add more fuel to the fire of his divorce allegations.

“Hmm,” She murmurs, opening up her body language a little, testing the waters. She looks Andy over, appraising her like she does the selections presented in a run-through. After a moment she says, “I believe you could do it.” 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Andy says, fighting the flush of pride. "My folks always hoped I would be a school teacher, or law secretary or something.” She shrugs. 

“What stopped you?” Miranda asks, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“Nothing, really. I’ve just always loved to write. I enjoy finding truth.” 

“You do seem quite noble,” Miranda appraises her once more. Andrea is certainly different. Inquisitive and smart, but not overbearing. Miranda decides she likes her. 

“What do you do?” Andy asks, attempting to shift the spot light. 

“I work in fashion, at Runway magazine.” Miranda answers casually. 

Andy allows herself to notice Miranda the way she’s been perused all night. She looks as though she should be in the magazine herself rather than working behind the scenes. Sure, her hair may have greyed completely but age has not touched her smooth face and bright eyes. Not to mention she has the body of a star right out of a picture show, deep curves and skin that looks feather-soft. 

"Of course you do,” she says as it dawns on her, "You must.” 

Miranda smiles, pleased at Andy’s words. She dresses very diligently every morning and is glad that a woman far younger and more beautiful than herself has taken notice. 

A singer takes the small corner stage, crooning something low and smooth. Andy turns her attention towards the music and listens, captivated by the song and by the way the lithe singer sings to a woman sitting front and center of the stage. The effortless beauty and sensuality emanating from this performer draw her into the performance.

Miranda watches Andy instead of the show, and takes her time doing so. Andy’s eyes are pure innocence but her full mouth practically begs to be kissed. She tries not to get ahead of her mind. Allowing herself to become attracted to a pretty young stranger can lead nowhere productive. She signals to the bartender to refill their drinks, trying not to gulp down her Scotch.

When the musicians have a break in their set, Miranda checks her watch. She should have left to meet Stephen a few minutes ago, not that she has intentions of rushing away.

As if conjured by thought, the bar maid approaches their table. Her remorseful demeanor tells Miranda everything she needs to know before any words even leave her mouth. 

“Ms. Priestly, I apologize for the interruption,” she wrings her hands, "Mr. Priestly has informed me that he will be unable to meet you later tonight. He sends his deepest regrets.” 

“I’m sure that he does.” For once, he has kept her waiting for hours in a bar she woudn’t otherwise attend instead of going home for the evening. She spent the evening biding her time in the city for an appointment that was never going to come to fruition. She knows a power play when she sees one, she practically invented the maneuver. Miranda’s dismisses the bartender with a flick of her wrists. Suddenly her evening has opened right up.

Andy, hearing the matching surname, glances down at Miranda’s hand to verify the absence of a wedding ring. There’s only a faint indent left behind, as if one used to rest there for a while long ago. Miranda catches her looking. 

“My ex-husband,” she smirks, "We’re divorcing.” 

“I’m sorry,” Andy says, at a loss for more words. 

“Don’t be. It’s what’s best for everyone, I’m sure. I am keeping far better company tonight.” She has yet to look upset. In fact Miranda looks more pleased than she did just a moment ago.

Andy takes the bait. “Oh?” she says. 

She is not normally the type to pry into personal matters, her desired career notwithstanding. Miranda’s mystery reels her in. The alcohol and Miranda’s perfume have opened up her curiosity and loosed her tongue. Any man who let a Miranda Priestly slip away must be fatally flawed.

Miranda decides to take the plunge. “I have an affliction, he calls it. I would say it’s more of an affinity.” 

The way Miranda is smirking, her eyes full of glee makes Andy dare to ask. “What kind of affinity, if you don’t mind?” 

“Women.” Miranda’s face doesn’t budge an inch. 

“You mean,” she stumbles a bit over the next word, “Romantically?” 

“Oh yes.” She practically purrs. Her intentions become clear. 

“I see,” Andy says, her eyes growing wide. Suddenly she does see, indeed. She chances a glance around, the pieces of a puzzle falling together in her mind. She thinks of the sultry singer making eyes at the other woman in the crowd, the female bar tender, the fact that she has yet to see a man inside The Blue Note all night. At once, Andy realizes what kind of establishment this is, a watering hole for other women with the same affinity. She gulps.

Miranda is still gazing at her with that cheeky smile, as she watches the truth dawn on Andrea. Andy’s brain fights valiantly with the attraction that sparks low in her belly from just a single look. She’s heard of women like Miranda, definitely. She just never knew how appealing they could be. The nuns at church always claimed that _homosexuals_ were aggressive and predatory and satanic. Miranda doesn’t seem to be any of those things at all, at least not in a bad way. 

Miranda curls her lips into a smile that bares her teeth. Andy has sudden thoughts of Bram Stoker’s fictitious creatures and bites on her neck. She wonders what Miranda’s lips feel nearly as soft as they look. 

“I see,” she says again, almost as an afterthought.

“Do you, Andrea?” Miranda says in that lilting voice. It makes Andy’s brain a little fuzzy. 

“I think I do." 

“Mmm,” Miranda’s eyes droop to half-mast. She watches the flush to Andrea’s cheeks closely, watches the way she downs the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Would you fancy a cigarette?” 

“Yes,” she says a little breathlessly. Miranda could have asked her anything in the world and she would have been affirmative.

Andy rises on wobbly legs and moves to pull on her heavy coat and hat. Miranda tosses a few bills on the table to cover their drinks and rises as well. She drapes her mink fur coat around her shoulders from the back of her chair, far more gracefully than should be possible. The coat looks as supple and soft as the woman beneath it. Andy wishes that she could reach out. 

Outside, the wind has died down but the chill still hangs heavy in the air. They step around a dark corner for a little shelter. Andy gratefully accepts a cigarette pulled from a gold case, inhaling deeply once the end is lit. 

Miranda tilts her head back, letting smoke billow out with her breath. Andy catches a quick glimpse of her smooth throat and the pulse beating strongly there.

“You’re staring,” Miranda says, exhaling smoke.

“I’m sorry, Miranda.” Andy’s eyes remain focused on their target. “I can’t help it.” Miranda is like a mirage, she can’t look away.

“Why’s that?”

“You’re just so,” Andy’s eyes drop downwards to Miranda’s lips. They’re painted a soft shade of red. The cigarette dangling from her fingers falls to the ground.

“Yes?” Miranda asks, a little breathless, a little impatient.

Andy’s hand reaches up to caress the soft fur at the neck of her coat, bringing their bodies flush together.

“Andrea,” Miranda lets out, “Please don’t–” Miranda’s sentence is cut off with a kiss. 

Andy kisses Miranda as if she could no longer help herself. Andy’s coat is freezing beneath Miranda’s hands but her lips are warm and soft. Miranda is consumed with the kiss, overcome by her desires suddenly come true. Andy lets out a sigh, as if she’s just as taken. The thought makes Miranda’s knees a little weak.

Gone are Miranda’s thoughts of warning this young woman against making a decision she would come to regret after tonight. Before she knows it, Andy’s hands have snaked beneath Miranda’s coat, running gently up her sides and making her shiver. She can’t help but let out a moan when they become more determined.

For money and riches and fame she could not pull herself away. Andy barely feels the chill now with the way the alcohol and Miranda have intoxicated her. Her cheeks feel flushed against the cold. She has no idea how much time has gone by before Miranda breaks the kiss.

“Would you,” Miranda pauses to catch her breath, “Would you come home with me?”

Andy’s eyes go wide. “Perhaps just to sleep,” Miranda continues, not wanting to scare her away into the night. “Or for a night cap. I promise to behave.”

A smile blooms on Andy’s face. Perhaps they should not continue to test their luck in an abandoned alley. “I’m not certain I can make the same promise.”

“I am not certain that I would like you to,” Miranda admits.

“There aren’t many cabs out tonight, should we go inside to call one?” 

“I’ve parked two streets over.” Miranda says, stepping back to collect herself. She pats her hair and buttons up her coat, wiping the side of her mouth. Most of her lipstick has been kissed off but she otherwise looks pristine. She presses soft cold fingers tenderly to Andy’s face before turning presumably in the direction of her car.

Andy blanches only a little before falling into step beside Miranda. Of course she has a car. She’s the editor of an entire fashion magazine, and surely must be amazing at it to hold such a high position as a woman in publishing. Miranda’s home is probably palatial, teeming with jewels and fine wine and about a dozen other fur coats. What has she gotten herself into?

Walking carefully on the wintery streets, they make their way to Miranda’s Chevrolet. It’s a deep olive green with leather interior, parked a little crookedly next to the sidewalk. Andy takes a chance and sits close to Miranda on the front bench seat instead of pressing against the car window, blowing into her hands for added warmth. The older woman presses a quick kiss to her cheek before pulling off into the street.

Miranda drives carefully, her sharp eyes focused on the road watching for patches of ice as her gloved hands grip the wheel. Andy watches her command the vehicle and it’s more than a little exciting. Miranda is unlike any woman she’s ever met.

“Here we are,” Miranda says after parking in front of a high rise apartment building, floors high and windows lit with bright white lights. 

“Wow,” Andy says, peeping through the window. The structure seems to endlessly rise up into the sky.

Inside, Miranda nods toward the doorman at the desk, who tips his hat in turn. When they reach the elevator, Miranda presses the button for the highest floor. “I hope you like it,” she says, pulling her set of keys from her coat pocket. “I’ve just moved in.”

Andy sure doesn’t have much to compare it to, but is sure she will find the apartment to be just grand. She’s excited to see inside the penthouse, but she’s more excited to spend more time with Miranda. She hasn’t stopped thinking about her mouth.

Miranda catches her staring yet again. She lets a single eyebrow raise as a smile curves her lips. Andy’s blush would look more bashful if it weren’t for the blinding smile she gives in return. With a ding, the elevator doors open.

A single door greets them, bearing the number 927, and Miranda unlocks it with her key. The entryway itself is luxurious, and if Andy were to guess, she would say that her apartment could fit inside of this suite about six or seven times. Her eyes widen as she takes it all in. Miranda gives her a few minutes to look.

“Would you like a drink?” Miranda asks, turning toward Andy and taking her coat.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.” Andy responds. Miranda turns toward the kitchen counter. She bends to pull a bottle from the liquor cabinet and low-ball glasses from the cupboards. 

Andy watches as her hands make quick work of the decanter. When Miranda turns around and places an inch-full glass in her hand, she does not look away. 

“You had no idea, did you?” Miranda asks evenly, “About the bar.” Andy won’t lie - she had no knowledge that such a place even existed before tonight, much less on her route to and from work. 

“No, I didn’t.” Andy admits, “But I’m not upset.” 

“No?” Miranda asks genuinely. She fiddles with her glass, but does not take a sip. Andy sets her own glass on the counter. 

“I want to know everything,” Andy says, taking a step closer. “I want to know all about you." 

“You won’t regret this in the morning?” Miranda asks. She holds her face very still, not letting hope shine through her eyes just yet. If Andrea hesitates even for a moment, she vows to drive her home. 

“Regret you?” Andy says disbelievingly. "I couldn’t.” 

Miranda decides a little hope is her due reward. “Alright,” Miranda says, drawing closer to the brunette, “As long as you’re sure." 

An inch away from a kiss Andy breathes, “Take me to bed.” 

Andy has had her fair share of romantic encounters, but nothing has moved her like being with Miranda. There’s the astonishing newness that comes with being with a woman, but there is also the way Miranda listens to her body. She watches intently for what Andrea likes, and what she likes even more. Somehow she is both rough and gentle, driving Andy mad with desire. She had no idea it could be like this. Andy prays this isn’t the first and last time. She wants to feel this good always. 

Lying sweaty diagonally across the bed, Andy tries to catch her breath. Hopefully she wasn’t too loud or anything, even though the walls seem pretty thick. Not that Miranda has to worry about neighbors to either side of her. Her muscles feel like melted butter.

Miranda drags a hand across her collarbone. “Are you alright?” 

“Shit,” Andy breathes with a smile, still catching her breath. Miranda laughs. Andy rolls to cover Miranda’s body with her own. “Can you show me how to do that?”

* * *

Miranda’s icebox is pretty bare, so as the sun rises, Andy decides to make eggs. She grates fancy cheese into a bowl of scrambled yolks and bends to see if Miranda has any vegetables suitable for mixing in stored on the bottom shelf. 

For however empty the refrigerator may be, Andy finds a cupboard fully stocked with coffee. She pours a few spoonfuls of fresh grounds into the percolator. 

As the stove heats up, Miranda emerges from the bedroom in a soft robe, looking fresh as a daisy. Andy would burn with jealousy if she wasn’t so enamored. There’s no possible way someone could wake up first thing in the morning and have their hair fall perfectly into layers like that. 

“Hello,” she greets Andy, placing a hand on her hip for balance as she reaches into a high cupboard for coffee cups.

“Good Morning,” Andy says back warmly. “Breakfast will be ready soon.” 

“How did you know I like my eggs scrambled?” Miranda asks. 

“A lucky guess.” Miranda looks at her dubiously. “And I am awful at frying them clean. I break the yolk every time.” 

Miranda laughs. “I’d thought so.” 

At the table, they tuck into their simple meal with gusto. Andy lets her coffee cool for a few moments before daring to take a sip, while Miranda takes a long draw before touching the rest of her breakfast. She doesn’t even wince. 

As she eats, Andy feels eyes searching her face. Miranda nibbles on the eggs and toast thoughtfully, her intense gaze only breaking to occasionally peer out the window. Andy puts her fork down and faces Miranda head on. After a moment she realizes what Miranda was searching for so intently on her face. 

“I didn’t lie,” Andy says quietly, “I could never regret you.” 

Miranda’s body seems to relax a little, although there is no dramatic exhale of relief. She smiles before biting into the rye toast. 

“Well then,” Miranda’s eyes fill with affection. She rests her chin in her hand. “That’s that.” 

Before Andy leaves late in the morning, Miranda slips a folded piece of stationery into Andy’s satchel. Her address and phone number are neatly scrawled on it in thick black pen. Andy tucks it further into the bag to keep it safe on her trek home. She scribbles her own address and the number to the phone in the hallway of her apartment building on the blank pad by Miranda’s phone. 

“I’ll see you,” Miranda says, kissing her cheek for a long moment, her hands holding Andy’s face gently in place. Andy tries to soak in as much warmth as she can before she steps outside. It will surely be a long cold walk to the train station. Miranda closes the door gently behind her. 

“I’ll see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course my first thought when I saw “Fur Coat” on one of the Bingo Boards was of Carol. I wanted it to be longer but my muse was like “lol nope bye.” I hope you all enjoyed! (I love and read all comments but cannot always respond on mobile.)


End file.
